“But that doesn’t help the matter any. If Dan and Billy have foolishly got themselves mixed up in it——”
“Mixed up in what?” demanded Mildred, with some heat. To Mildred Kent’s mind it was impossible that Dan Speedwell could ever be in any real trouble—that is, trouble that came about through his not being “perfectly straight.” Billy, perhaps, might be foolish; but never Dan!
Just as she spoke there was a jingling of sleigh bells at the door of the Parker house. There had been little sleighing this winter, save on the river; but a couple of days before, a trifle of snow had fallen—enough to crust the Riverdale streets and the drives in and out of the town.
“Here’s Mr. Kimball now—I do believe!” cried Lettie, jumping up and running to a front window. “Yes! he said he was going up the river to the Biggin place, and he’d stop for father——”
“This Harry Biggin,” said Mildred, suddenly. “Is he one of those farmers on the other side of the river?”
“Yes. They own that big place near Meadville, only on the other bank.”
“And he says Dan and Billy are connected with robbers—or outlaws—or something——”
“I never said so!”
“I’m going to ask Mr. Kimball what he means, then,” said Mildred, firmly, and putting aside her work she arose and went quickly to the hall door.
Mr. Parker was welcoming the sheriff at the door. The latter was a tall, thin and wiry man, dressed in a long gray ulster belted at the waist. If old John Bromley could have seen him he would have immediately recognized the man he had driven away from his dock while the Speedwells were trying out their new motor-iceboat.